


Worth Staying For

by laurxnts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Bears The Mark of Cain, Episode: s10e20 Angel Heart, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by Jensen and Misha's sunset photo, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Stolen Grace, inspired by 10x16, sunset
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3622500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurxnts/pseuds/laurxnts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel are forced to stop the car so that Claire can pee. It turns out to be a blessing in disguise when the two talk things over alone at the lakeside and they both start to realise there might be a reason to fight their inevitable fates.</p>
<p>~ Inspired by Dean's confession in 10x16 and Jensen and Misha's photos from the set of 10x20 ~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth Staying For

**Author's Note:**

> This was only supposed to be around 500 words but I got carried away. Not proof read because I'm lazy.

The impala purrs lowly as it glides down the country roads and deserted lanes that probably haven’t had tires meet them in weeks, maybe longer. Dusk is fast approaching, the sun making its slow, daily dip below the horizon, paving way for the moon and stars. The car is silent aside from the rumble of the engine, a rhythmic hum, and the scratch of tires against loose chippings on the unmaintained road. Unusually for Dean, the radio is switched off too – no bars of rock music or guitar solos drift through the impala today.

The case they’re driving back from wasn’t too bad, for the most part, considering the circumstances. Claire had gotten herself caught up with demons – though Dean couldn’t really blame her for not realising they’d use her for leverage against Castiel – and just as the demons had expected, Castiel and Dean had drove to her rescue. They’d succeeded, of course. Three demons weren’t exactly a match for a hunter with the mark and an angel, fading grace or not.

His fingers twitch at the steering wheel, resisting the urge to reach over and switch the radio on. The silence, whilst comforting, almost therapeutic, also leaves Dean alone with his thoughts. The mark is a dull and constant throb on his forearm but its faint this evening. Dean is thankful for that. Nevertheless, he can still feel it burning under his skin, an unrelenting itch that he is incapable of scratching.

The rustle of fabric is heard in the passenger seat beside him as Castiel shifts in his seat, pulling his trench coat further over his lap, trying to get comfortable. It used to be an unfamiliar gesture for the angel, but Dean is noticing them more and more. It’s not unusual to see Castiel shift or itch or yawn lately and whilst they usually would go unnoticed by most, they don’t by Dean. They are tell-tale signs of his fading grace, his descent into humanity and, inevitably, his death. The thought makes his gut ache. He briefly wonders what the two of them would be if it weren’t for this, if they weren’t constantly teetering on the precipice of death – the threat like a guillotine swinging above them, heavy and dark. He brushes it away. ‘What ifs’, he’s been warned, are the precursors to the downfall of hunters.

Dean sighs, tapping the wheel, as he glances at the angel. Castiel is staring out of the window, features relaxed and blue eyes shifting, drinking in the sight. To anyone else, the gesture – face turned away from the rest of the car – may seem ignorant. Dean knows it’s not; Castiel loves nature, loves his Father’s work, and will take any opportunity to absorb the picturesque sights. Dean wishes he could appreciate the world like Cas does but to him, the beauty of nature bleeds irony, screams it; a juxtaposition to the cruelty and brutality that Dean has been so mercilessly exposed to. The world is far from beautiful.

In the backseat, Claire is sprawled across the seats, her knees pulled up as she leans her back against the door of the impala. She’s scrolling on her phone, headphones plugged in, and if Dean tries hard enough, he can hear the faint thrum of music drifting from them. He’s glad she made it, glad they could’ve saved at least someone since everything else seems so inevitably decided for them lately. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if they’d lost her, doesn’t know what Castiel would have done. He knows the angel would blame himself, and Dean is glad he could relieve him from at least that burden. He wishes he could relieve all of Castiel’s other worries. His gut aches again.

The therapeutic silence is broken as Claire tugs out one of her earphones and swings her legs down from the seats. She leans her elbows on the back of the front seat, leaning forward to talk to Dean and Castiel.

“I need to pee.” Her voice is sheepish and Dean sighs.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, kiddo.” Dean doesn’t take his eyes off the road, and the prolonged silence makes his voice rough, like broken glass, when he speaks. Another symptom of the mark.

“I’m sure you can hold it until we arrive somewhere more convenient for you to urinate.” Castiel adds, turning to face Dean and Claire for the first time since they started driving. Dean wonders what the angel has been thinking all this time – there are no signs in his expression; there never is.

Claire snorts; “how would you know? Do angels even pee?” Before Castiel can answer, she’s talking again, turning to Dean. “Come on, I’ve gotta go.”

Dean sighs and glances at the clock on the dashboard, and then back at the road – it’ll be at least an hour before they get anywhere. The line of scrubs to their right dissipates, giving way for an open space of sand and grassy banks that would reach Dean’s ankles. The grass sways in the light, evening breeze, and breaks away at the water’s edge, giving way for a span of water, a lake that stretches almost to the horizon. Perfect.

Dean slides the impala to a halt, the engine growling as she settles. “Here.”

There’s a pause in which Claire is probably considering the implications, before Dean notices her nose crinkle in the rear-view mirror. “You want me to pee here?”

“When you gotta go, you gotta go. It’s either that or wait for the service station in like,” another glance at the clock, “an hour.”

Claire sighs and hesitates before she unplugs her headphones and pockets her phone. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll go find a bush or something.”

“The grass looks pretty tall if you, you know, squat.” Dean offers, trying to be helpful. Claire just grimaces, pleading for him to shut up. He laughs a little.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Castiel turns to look at her, his expression serious and full of hopeful kindness. Dean tries not to laugh at his cluelessness.

Her nose crinkles again and she frowns. “Ew. No. Gross.”

The car is filled with cool April air as Claire opens the door and clambers out, letting it click shut behind her. She makes her way across the grass bank, her converse sinking into the sand before she’s out of sight. Dean watches her, letting the engine switch off, before he opens the door and unclips his seatbelt.

“Gotta get some fresh air.” He answers Castiel’s silent question, before getting out of the car and closing the door. He leans against it, looking out across the lake, as Castiel appears by his side, stretching a little. It’s so human, Dean thinks, to be uncomfortable from a long car journey, to need to stretch your legs. He wonders how long Castiel has left; he never talks about it.

Above them, the sky is a beautiful array of colour as blue is edged out by splashes of orange and pink, like streaks of paint across a canvas. They bleed into one another, the sunset melting together before it will eventually ebb away, leaving velvet darkness behind, freckled with stars. Dean takes a deep breath of the spring air and he can smell the sand and water in the air. He leans his head back to exhale, looking up at the sky.  

“Hey, Cas?” He finally speaks, voice gruff in the still air. He doesn’t wait for a reply; he knows the angel is listening. “Do aliens exist?”

“Are you referring to extra-terrestrial life?” His voice is quizzical but soft – always soft, even though it’s an octave lower than one would expect from just looking at Castiel. He hums a ‘yes’ and Castiel pauses, “I don’t know. I’m not omniscient. If it exists, I haven’t been informed.”

“You’re just as clueless as the rest of us.” Dean hums thoughtfully, still leaning back to look at the sky.

“They don’t tell me much, Dean,” Castiel replies and he’s sure there’s a hint of defensiveness in his voice. It’s followed by a sigh. “Especially not anymore.”

“Huh. Why not?” He looks back up, glancing to the right to study the profile of the angel as he looks out across the water. “They don’t trust you or something?”

“Precisely that.” Castiel confirms with a small nod. Although his voice bears little emotion, Dean can tell by the crease of his eyebrows that it bothers him. He thinks to all the times Sam has doubted him, and suddenly he can’t blame Castiel for wanting to make peace with his siblings. He forgets that sometimes, forgets that the other angels are all Castiel’s brothers and sisters. They don’t act like it.

A long silence stretches out between them and Dean stares out across the water. The lake is practically still, save from the stir of the breeze and the ripples where dragonflies dance on the surface. It reflects the cascade of colours, like a mirror, the ripples of water edged with orange. Somewhere in the distance, Dean hears crickets chirp, and birds whistle and he’s hit with the thought that no matter what happens to him, life will prevail. Like it always does. He suddenly wants to make his life count, to make it mean something. It itches under his skin, not like the mark does, but opposite. It’s not an itch for cruelty or violence, it’s an itch for intimacy, affection. His mind drifts back to his confession with the priest and Dean shifts; itching to be closer to Castiel.

That’s what it’s all about, after all. Dean has long since stopped denying it to himself. It’s become a part of him that he’s carried with him, dealt with by himself. For the most part, he can deal with it. Sometimes an extra 15 minutes in the shower or a moment alone in a motel room will do the trick. Sometimes he forces the feeling down. But sometimes, it’s insufferable, an unwavering desire that burns in his gut. He wishes, at least, that it would manifest itself filthily and debauched, that he would be able to satisfy it by sordid fantasies – at least then he would have some dignity. But it’s not, not very often. A lot of the time, the desire burns for something else – to reach out and lace their fingers together, to pull the angel close by the lapels of his trench coat, to build up the courage, for once, to plead for him to stay when Dean is feeling lonely, when nightmares threaten to plague his nights. He craves intimacy, he craves to have the angel close, to touch him so gently that he’d break apart at the seams. Those cravings are too raw even for Dean to handle, so he pushes them down until he chokes on them.

“How are you, Dean?” Castiel’s voice, soft and concerned, breaks Dean out of his thoughts. He looks at the angel, green meeting blue, and smiles.

“Me? I’m fine.” He shrugs. “I’m peachy.”

“No, you’re not.” Castiel tilts his head and Dean feels like Cas can see into his very soul – he probably can. “Sam isn’t here, you don’t have to lie. Not to me.”

Dean lets out a sigh. “Honestly? I could be better. But then again, I could be worse.” He glances down at the ground, kicking a stray pebble into the grass. “Just gotta… keep on fighting, you know?”

“Do you mean that?” Castiel inquires, and Dean knows he hasn’t taken his eyes off the hunter. “Sam said that you… were considering giving up. Accepting your fate.”

“I was.” Dean laughs a little.

“What changed your mind?”

“S’just not our style,” Dean shrugs and looks up at Castiel. He revels in these moments; offloading to the angel is always therapeutic for Dean – he knows Cas can carry his burdens but more so, he knows Castiel wants to. “I mean, the apocalypse? We took fate and we shoved it up those angels’ asses. You know, when has it ever been our style to just lie down and take it?”

“So… You’re going to fight?” Castiel asks, looking for clarification. The hopefulness in Castiel’s voice makes his chest ache. “You’re going to let Sam and I find a way to rid you of the mark?”

“Yeah.” Dean nods and he turns back to the water. The silence stretches out between them again. “I’m – uh – I’m scared, Cas. Dying; it scares me.”

Castiel doesn’t reply, just shifts a little from where he stands, leaning against the door. In his peripheral vision, Dean can see the breeze tease at Castiel’s dark hair, can see the angel’s shoulders sag as he sighs. Dean wonders if Castiel is scared of dying. The possibility is just as imminent for Cas as it is for Dean. Guilt tugs at him – he’s been a terrible friend.

“How – How are you, Cas?” He turns his attention fully to Castiel.

“I’m fine.”

“No, come on. Forget about me. I can take it. Talk to me,” He gestures between the two of them and Castiel turns to face Dean too. The iridescent sunset shadows Castiel’s features, the blue of his eyes almost indiscernible in the fading light. He looks beautiful. Dean curses himself for thinking it.

“I’m…” Castiel considers. “Really. I’m okay. I’m extremely old; I’ve made peace with my death.”

“So, that’s it? The grand finale?” Dean raises his eyebrows. The thought of losing Castiel nags at him, stings, but he pushes it away.

“Yes.” Castiel nods. “I think… It’s time. Once we cure the mark, I don’t know what else there is for me to stay for. I’ve played my part.”

_Me,_ Dean thinks, _stay for me._

“There’s always something, Cas.” Dean disputes. “Come on, man. You can’t just give up.”

“But what is there to stay for…?” Castiel tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. He’s not accusing, he’s sincerely asking, and the fact that the angel believes he has no further purpose makes Dean want to reach out and prove him wrong. “…What are you staying for?”

Dean’s heart thuds at the question. How does he answer? “I don’t know.” He clears his throat. “I, uh, I’ve seen things that… most people couldn’t even dream of, you know? But I… I think I’m still missing out on… everything. There are just… things I wanna do differently. Things I wanna change, stuff I wanna experience, that I won’t have the chance to do if I just give up. Life is short – hah, well, for us it is – and I wanna do it right this time. You know?”

“No.” Castiel replies bluntly, staring at Dean. “I don’t. What… things? What would you do, if you had the chance?”

The silence feels endless, wrapping its tendrils around the two of them, closing in on them. In the wide, open space, Dean feels like he’s suffocating, like he hasn’t been so close to the angel in so long. The opportunity presents itself, and suddenly, despite all his fantasies, Dean _doesn’t know how._ He trembles a little, laughing softly at Castiel’s question. The space between them aches and he itches to close it, to kiss the quizzical expression from Castiel’s face. They’re both dying. What’s stopping him?

“Like…” He gestures with his hand, glancing at their surroundings. The emptiness stares back at him, indicating just how alone they are – their own little haven, just for a second. “Like, I don’t know…” His words trail off when he looks back at Castiel, like he’s seeing him for the first time. The wrinkles that frame his eyes, the blue that looks at Dean with such kindness he could drown in it, the lines of a thousand stories from a thousand lifetimes etched onto his skin. He glances down at Castiel’s lips, pink and chapped and pressed together in confusion, awaiting an answer. “This.”

And so he does it. He curls his fingers into the lapels of Castiel’s trench coat, tugs the angel closer, and presses their lips together. Castiel’s lips are surprisingly soft against his, warm and full. The kiss is nothing, just chaste, the press of lips, but it’s glorious enough to make Dean’s entire world crumble. His knees almost give way before he grounds himself, lips pressed against Castiel’s, and he notices the angel is frozen, still against him. He wonders if he’s messed it up, if he’s fucked everything up, and goes to pull away.

But then he feels something extraordinary; Castiel’s hand on his waist, pulling him closer, preventing him from moving away. The angel’s lips move against his, and their closed mouth, chaste kiss becomes something more. Despite Cas’ obvious inexperience, he kisses with such tenderness that it almost breaks Dean apart. Their lips move together, slow and experimental at first, before they step closer into one another’s space and _melt._ The kiss is laced with desire and desperation, a thousand almosts coming together at once and all Dean can think is _finally._ It takes only another moment before Castiel is pressed against the door of the car, Dean’s body almost flush against him, hands tugging at short hair, hungry and passionate enough to make Dean ache.

When Dean’s lungs burn, he has to pull away, panting heavily. The angel pants too and they share breaths, hot on one another’s skin. Dean presses their foreheads together, fingers still curled into the hair at the base of Castiel’s head. His bones sing and the mark is a distance thrum, almost unnoticeable. With his eyes still closed, he laughs in disbelief, breathless and soft. It tugs a laugh from Castiel too and then they’re both laughing, the sound rumbling through them where their bodies meet.

“You…” Dean whispers, still in disbelief. All this time, all those doubts, and Castiel had wanted him too. The time they have wasted nags at him, and he hates himself for it. “…You son of a bitch…”

Castiel just hums in reply, before he’s pulling back and they’re looking at each other again. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen Castiel smile the way he’s smiling now, emotion written on his face so uncharacteristically for the angel.

“I think I understand now.” Castiel’s voice is an octave lower than usual. “I think I can see it now – there is something worth staying for.”

Dean’s heart soars.

Claire’s footsteps are heard behind them in the grass, and Dean has to force himself to step away, grinning dopily at Cas. She makes some comment about how peeing in the grass is _disgusting._ If she saw anything happen between Dean and Castiel, she doesn’t mention it.

When they get back into the car and set off on the road again, it’s almost as if nothing has changed. The car journey is a mirror image of the one before they set off. That is, however, until Castiel reaches over and switches the radio on, the first bars of Led Zeppelin’s _Ramble On_ bleeding through the car – one of Dean’s favourite songs. He smiles, tapping his hand against his knee in time with the beat.

_Leaves are falling all around, it’s time I was on my way…_

Castiel’s fingers brush Dean’s, the ones that are tapping the beat on his knee. He glances down to watch as Castiel takes his hand, lacing their fingers together, palm to palm. He looks up at Castiel briefly and smiles, before his eyes are back on the road as he sings along under his breath, tapping the steering wheel.

For the first time in a long time, Dean feels like himself again, and the gesture between them is so natural that Dean doesn’t think they’ll ever have to look back.

_But now it’s time for me to go – the autumn moon lights my way._


End file.
